


Little Lady

by Charmtion



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 11:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmtion/pseuds/Charmtion
Summary: “Would they call youladynow?” He ran his hand between her legs. “Arse up like a whore in the yard for all the world to see.”After seeing his little bird back to her cage, the Hound has another charge to deal with: his loyal bitch run jealous in the bailey.





	Little Lady

**Author's Note:**

> **NSFW**.

She watched him as they lauded him at the feast, called him true knight and hero and hailed his good heart and strong arm. His face was thunder to hear the endless _sers_ and _milords_ as the revellers circled round him, toasting cups of wine and tankards of thick black ale to his victory at the tourney of the Hand. He scowled and stepped and sank back mead by the jug, and he went running to his prince when called.

 _Like the good dog he is_ , she thought as he slipped through the pavilions behind the red-haired Stark girl. _Like the good, loyal Hound he is_.

She followed them along the riverbank, stepped deft and true behind them as they threaded their way through the city and hitched a lift in the waiting carts. She skipped over the cobbles in another wagon and reached the castle gates as they were disappearing past the small hall. She walked at a slow pace and came upon them as they slipped up the stair of the Tower of the Hand. She was covered by moonlight and shadow and stood as stone beyond the tower’s twist to hear him bark his tale of fire and fury to the little Stark bird of red feathers and blue gaze. She listened to his threat, his hard growl of warning, and she turned and fled the stone stair and waited at its foot.

He swayed down the steps, his boots muffled despite his huge size, his shoulders moving in a quiet creak of soot-dark armour as he rounded the corner and found her waiting. He lifted his face and narrowed his eyes at her, the stiff red scar tightening on the left of his face, glowing black and crimson and bone-white in the mixed light of torch and star. He said nothing to her, only grabbed her arm and pulled her along behind him as they slid down the steps of the Tower of the Hand and marched quiet as shadows across the middle bailey to the shelter of the curtain wall where crates of practice swords and shields made mountains in the dark.

“Little lady,” he said, his voice stones crashing together. “The little lady has followed me home to the keep.”

She rocked up onto her tiptoes and gripped his jaw with her hand, feeling the smooth flesh give way to hard scar and bone. Her eyes were black in the moonlight, hunger bursting like stars in their depths. He found her hand with his and gripped it tight, prising it from his cheek with a rough hard pull, and laying her palm to his lips.

“ _My_ little lady,” he whispered, voice grating like a flint to the fire burning in her belly. “My pretty little lady.”

He turned her and pressed her against the curtain wall and dropped to his knees before her, the soot-dark armour and olive-green cloak creaking and snapping in the haste of his movement. She stared down at him with blazing eyes as his hands swept up from her ankles to her hips beneath her skirts, finding her cunt bare and wet and hot and arching into his palm. He gazed up at her with a smile twisted on his mouth and threw her skirts up around her waist, holding them there with his free arm as his other hand slid fingers back and forth along her pink glittering folds naked and slippery in the shadows of the moon. Her hands sank into his dark hair, travelling down to form a fist at his nape. That twisted smile grew wider as he moved his face closer to her cunt; she felt his breath warm and wine-heavy misting on her wet folds and she gave a breathy moan.

“They’ve called me ser and lord all night,” he said, sinking his mouth down onto her cunt. He took her in one wide long lick, his tongue dancing tight around her nub before he sucked it into his mouth. He drew back when he felt her thighs quivering against his cheeks and her hand pulling hard at his hair. He gazed up at her and licked his lips to see the helpless fire in her eyes. “If only they knew, little lady.” He kissed and sucked at her nub again before he landed a sharp bite on her hip. “If only they knew that the only thing I am lord of is this hot little cunt.”

She saw the dark abandon in his gaze then and swept her hand to cradle his chin, her teeth gritting to see his lips shining from her scent. Her tongue darted out to sweep over her own lips and then pouted to see the groan it drew from him. Her fingers moved from his chin and pushed into his mouth, her eyelashes fluttering as he sucked on her thumb and marked it with his teeth. She drew back and licked it clean, slowly, languorously, a pretty pink swipe of her pointed tongue and he grumbled in his chest and dug his fingers deep into her hips. She smiled at that as she always did; her teeth showing white in the moonlight to see him surrender himself out here on his knees before her, his lips wet from her cunt, his eyes run mad by her taste.

“Lord of salt and sweet, that’s what you are,” she said, pulling his bottom lip down with her thumb. “The Hound who has my heart.” She tilted her head and flared her eyes in challenge. “What does that make me, Sandor Clegane?”

He rose in one lithe movement and towered over her, keeping his grip on her cunt, rolling her with his thumb and fingers and growling to see the clench of her teeth and leap of her eyes. She shuddered in the circle of his arms, her runched skirts scraping on the stone wall, and tilted her hips forward, clamped her legs tight shut around his hand. Her hands rose to grip hard to his shoulders, snatching at the olive cloak as if she would tear it off, and he felt her clenching around his fingers, felt the flood of wetness cover his hand.

“It makes you _my_ little lady,” he grunted, twisting his fingers inside her and grinning at the mewl she made. “It makes you the Hound’s loyal bitch.” He caught her up in his arms and pressed her against the curtain wall, her legs locked about his waist, her back arching her belly into his soot-dark armour. “Even if he did catch you spying.” He had her bent over one of the crates of wooden swords before she could raise her hand to slap him. He held her down with a huge hand to the middle of her shoulders and swept her skirts around her waist. “Did you think I was off to fuck the little bird?”

She turned her head to glare at him over her shoulder and growled; but her hips backed up by themselves as her cunt sought out his touch. He gave a crack of laughter at that and landed a hard palm on her arse. The clap of hand on flesh rang out like a bell across the middle bailey and she arched her back and keened. He gripped the flesh to dull the sting and then slammed his palm down on the other side. She moaned long and low and swivelled her hips further back into him, her thighs run wet by her desire, the muscles in her legs quivering.

“Look at you,” he rumbled, lust making his voice harsh and thick. “Would they call you lady now?” He ran his hand between her legs, his fingers stretching her wide as he fumbled with his laces and freed his twitching cock. “Arse up like a whore in the yard for all the world to see.” He palmed himself as his fingers stroked hard inside her; she felt his cock brush against her thighs and she whined and shimmied toward it. He gave a low chuckle. “Is this what you want, little lady?” He ran his cock up and down her soaking folds and felt her shudder. “Would the bitch take her cur out here beneath the moon?”

“The bitch would take her cur wherever he commanded,” she hissed, throwing another glare at him before her head went down and her fingers stretched desperately before her, gripping hard at the edge of the wooden crate, her back arching and legs parting wide. “Gods, be it camp or castle or creek – be it a room crammed full of jealous eyes… ah _fuck you Sandor_!” He circled her nub with the crown of his cock now and she slammed her palms down flat on the crate. “Damn you, dog, _damn_ you.” He lowered himself over her now, his huge weight pinning her down, crushing her and making her breath come quick and sharp. He wound her hair around his fist and pulled her head back, diving to nip at the soft flesh below her ear. She moaned and shook. “Just fuck me, Sandor, _please_. Fuck me now.”

He held her there a moment and watched her as lust and love and desire and revulsion at his own weakness swam before his eyes. She was a shadow of himself in some ways: wild and strong and full of fire and hate. In every other way she was the light that he himself lacked. And she was _beautiful_ , especially now with her white throat stretched out inviting his teeth to mark it, with the soft curve of her cheek trembling, her plush lips parting to moan and whimper and beg, her back arched and her hips splayed and her wetness spilling down her legs. _And that cunt_. He watched it twitch and glisten in the moonlight. _That hot little cunt that I guard as jealously as a king guards keep and castle, that cunt I need as a man needs air to breathe_ … He ran a hand down her spine as the other remained fisted in her hair and gently pulled her head further back. He stretched her with his fingers, drawing his massive bulk off her back, and levelled his cock to brush against her sopping folds.

“You’re a good little lady, aren’t you?” he murmured, pushing into her very slowly. Her hips shifted and her thighs danced as he stretched her, sliding slowly inch by inch until he filled her completely. His voice came from his throat in a great sigh of relief and warm pleasure then. “Such a good, _good_ little lady.”

She rocked back hard against him and gripped at the crate, her legs growing boneless as he pulled back and pushed in slow and deep and full, again and again. She rolled her neck in his grip and moaned.

“And yours,” she whispered, taking his hand from her hair and bringing it to her mouth. She sucked and bit at his fingers, rolling them with her tongue, before she kissed his knuckles and gripped him tight as he moved inside her. “All yours.”

“And mine,” he growled, gripping at her arse with one hand whilst the other was flowered in her kisses. _Gods be damned, I love this wench, I love her_. “All mine.”

She whimpered at that and held his hand to her plush lips as he rocked her, her hips rolling, her cunt stretched to aching around his cock.

Above them, a little bird moved to the window of her lonely tower and saw where they moved in shadow and moonlight as one, gripping and grinding and growling. Below, bent before the Hound, his lover looked up, eyes glazed in ecstasy, mouth open and crying out, and she glimpsed the little Stark bird of red feathers with blue eyes wide at what she saw. _A good and loyal Hound_. She was dust and air and water beneath him, her cunt trembling and clamping and rippling around his cock as she came hard and rocked forward, his seed spilling down her thighs as he withdrew and pressed his body to her back, breathing hard against her neck, a great clumsy hand stroking back the hair from her brow. _And mine_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

>  **NB** : an unofficial prequel to [Man, Maid, Mine.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17303897/chapters/40700078)🐶


End file.
